Somewhere Out There
by WhitR
Summary: [pre series] At twenty-four years old, Dean Winchester knows just about every way possible deal with anything that isn't natural. From angry spirits to zombies, he can handle them all. The one thing he doesn't know how to really deal with is the kindness of a stranger. Especially when that stranger saves his life when things go wrong one winter night after a solo hunt.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTE (6-11-2015): I did delete chapters 3-9. That's only because after re-reading what I had already posted, I realized I had some holes in the plot as well as some things that I felt like didn't flow right with how I planned for this story to go. At any rate, I hope you'll enjoy this new version better. Reviews are greatly appreciated! **

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><p>Snow fell hard enough to make visibility almost zero as Dean Winchester tried to make it up a winding mountain road. The forecast hadn't called for so much snow to fall so fast, and the young hunter had gotten caught off guard by it. Nearly four inches had fallen in the last two hours since he had finally killed the Black Dog he originally came to Tennessee to hunt.<p>

Dean couldn't remember the name of the small town he was in, but he did remember that his Dad used to stay in a small hunting cabin just on the outskirts of the town. The cabin belonged to another hunter who always left it open to any others who needed a place to stay while in town. It was just another twenty minutes up the road, but the snow had Dean slowing to a snail's pace just to keep the car on the road.

The classic rock that usually cranked out from the speakers inside the black 1967 Impala was nearly muted. Dean discovered half an hour ago that listening to the music he loved only made his headache worse. Ever since arriving in Tennessee four days prior, Dean had been battling an illness that left him struggling to stay at the top of his game. Having hunted a Black Dog before, it should have been an easy hunt for him, but one ill-timed coughing fit alerted the beast to his presence on the second day. Two days later, he finally got the upper hand despite feeling even worse than he had when he began the hunt.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he tried to maneuver the car along the winding road. All he wanted was to get to the cabin and sleep for a few hours. His whole body ached from having to wrestle with the Black Dog. He still couldn't believe it hadn't managed to get its fangs into him. Dean shivered as he watched the snow fall harder in the shine of the car's headlights. The hunt could have seriously gone sideways in a hurry, and he would have been left alone in the middle of a snowstorm with no help for miles.

Dean learned the hard way just how much it took to be alone on a hunt. His father had reluctantly sent him after the Black Dog, demanding that Dean join him in Wisconsin to hunt a Wendigo that had been targeting hikers for the past four months. For Dean, it was his first solo hunt and his first chance to prove to John that he could be the hunter his father expected him to be. He suddenly realized that he hadn't heard from his father since yesterday. Not since his father had called to berate him on the fact he should have been done with the hunt on the first day.

He knew he couldn't tell his father that the Black Dog nearly got the best of him. His father would be disappointed to know how poorly his oldest son had handled what was seen as a simple hunt.

Things had been that way between Dean and his father for a while. Dean thought sadly of his younger brother Sam, who left after a fight with their father many months ago. Sam wanted out of the family business, as Dean called it. Hunting things that went bump in the night wasn't exactly the kind of job that every person could do or wanted to do. Sam finally had enough of it and left. Their father was still bitter about Sam leaving. So bitter that he had told Sam never to come back.

Dean couldn't blame his brother for leaving though. The kid had always been smarter than Dean ever was in school and managed to somehow get a full scholarship to Stanford despite the numerous schools they had to attend as their father dragged them across the country their entire childhood.

The fights between John and Sam were always the hardest on Dean. He always got caught in the middle, but tried to never pick sides. If he picked a side, the other would berate him for at least a day after. He hated to admit it, but sometimes he was glad Sam was gone, if only for the fact he wasn't getting caught in the middle of the arguments anymore. Still, Dean wished more than anything that they could all be a family again.

His thoughts snapped back to his current predicament as he felt the car slide on some ice. Dean wondered if it had been such a good idea to travel down the dead-end road just to get to the hunter's cabin. He really hadn't had much of a choice. Even if he tried to get a room at the small hotel he had passed an hour ago, it would have left him without enough money to make it back to his father in Wisconsin.

Just as he rounded a curve, a snow-laden tree took that moment to start toppling into the road. Dean's normally catlike reflexes were tremendously slowed by illness and fatigue from the past few days, and he couldn't keep the car under control. He felt the car start to slide off the road as he jerked the steering wheel to avoid the falling tree. The tree fell, just barely missing the Impala as it slid by.

He skidded off the road, coming to a stop in a clearing just past the trees. It was a relief to him that he didn't hit anything, but a brief wave of panic hit when he realized the car was stuck. No matter how hard he tried, the car wouldn't budge. He left the engine running and tried to figure out what to do. Calling his Dad wouldn't be much help. His Dad definitely couldn't come to his rescue.

"Great," he muttered, resisting the urge to beat his already pounding head against the steering wheel.

He laughed to himself as he thought about what his dad would say now. Dean knew he didn't have many options for how to get out of the mess he was in. He looked around to see if, by some miracle, he had gotten stuck near a house. He had to squint as he looked through the windshield, but he saw the unmistakable sign of a front porch light that was on, illuminating the front of a small house.

He suddenly had two options. Sit in the car and wait out the storm, and hope he didn't freeze to death in the process. Or hope that whoever lived in that house would be willing to help him out for the night.

In his line of work, trusting a stranger was something he did only if necessary. Dean made his decision as he killed the car's engine and pocketed his car keys, ensured his phone was in his jacket pocket, and opened the car's door. The windblown snow in his vision coupled with his already dizzying headache had him swaying until he grabbed onto the car door to keep from falling. He tried to ignore just how much effort it took to simply shut the door and walk around to grab his duffel bag from the trunk.

A force of habit made him check for his hunting knife hidden within the bag before tucking a small handgun into the waist of his jeans and concealing it with his jacket. He couldn't exactly walk up to a stranger's house carrying his usual arsenal, but he wanted to at least have something with him in case whoever lived in the house decided he wasn't welcome. It wouldn't be the first time he had encountered an unfriendly being at a home, human or otherwise.

He looked back toward the house's porch light. The wind whipped around him, reminding Dean that if he didn't start moving he was going to end up frozen to the spot behind his beloved car. It pained him to leave the car on the side of the road. He just hoped nobody came through and hit it before he could get it moved. He grabbed a flashlight from the trunk and did a quick—well, as quick as possible for a sick man—walk around his car to ensure the Impala hadn't been damaged. He breathed a sigh of relief that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Closing the trunk, he shouldered his bag and started walking toward the house. The beam of the flashlight didn't penetrate far into the falling snow, but Dean managed to keep going in the right direction toward the house.

The pounding in his head increased with every step. His fevered mind began playing tricks on him. Dean swore he saw figures lurking in the shadows. He felt like something was watching him. He couldn't stop the moment of panic that hit him when a coughing fit left him doubled over. He dropped his bag as he tried to get his breathing back under control.

That's when he heard it. Something sounded over the howl of the wind. The beam of the flashlight caught the movement of a large, black blur that darted just past the reach of the beam of light. A low growl sounded behind Dean. He whirled around to see what it was. The movement sent a new wave of dizziness over him. He bit back the groan that threatened to escape his lips. Another growl sounded, this time to the left. Dean blinked a couple times then saw the black mass running toward him.

He dropped the flashlight in his haste to grab the handgun concealed beneath his jacket. His shaking hands left him fumbling with the pistol before he dropped it in the snow.

"Damn it!" he cried out in a panicked huff.

The flashlight had turned off when he dropped it. The gun was somewhere in the snow. His bag was a few feet away. When had he stepped away from it? Confusion, panic, and just a hint of fear had Dean trying to figure out where the thing was that he had seen running toward him. His vision blurred as he shivered violently in the wind that seemed to have gotten colder. The black form suddenly appeared in his blurred line of sight again. Dean braced himself for an attack. It barreled toward him, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him onto his back.

All he saw was a black, furry creature with white teeth that gleamed from the glow of the porch light that suddenly didn't seem as far away as Dean remembered.

"Help me!" he called out as the creature's weight fell on him. He pushed it off only to have it return a split second later. "Help!"

_This is it,_ he thought as he tried to push the creature away as his vision blurred even more. He could have sworn he heard it growl again. _If I don't freeze to death first, this damn hellhound is going to kill me._


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter has been changed quite a bit since the original version was posted. The chapters I had posted after this in the original version have been taken down so I can edit and change a few things. **

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><p>Madison Carlisle watched the snow blowing past the living room window in the glow of her front porch light. The local forecasters had predicted the storm would only drop maybe a couple inches of snow. Now it was close to half a foot of snow. She had nothing pressing to do for the next few days so she didn't care how much snow fell. Winter was her favorite season, and it had been a few years since any significant snow had fallen in the area. Actually, she hadn't seen any real snowfall since she was twenty-four. And that was four years ago.<p>

Madison, comfortably snuggled under her favorite blanket, idly flipped through the channels on her TV until she settled on a CSI marathon. Her black lab padded into the room and walked over to the door. He pawed at it and whined.

"Remi," Madison looked at the dog incredulously. "It's freezing out there. You sure you want outside?"

The dog barked at the word 'outside'. Madison shook her head at the dog's uncanny timing in wanting outside. She got up to let him out. The cold air blew into the house with such force that Madison knew Remington wouldn't stay out in the cold long. She brushed windblown strands of her blonde hair from her face as she watched Remington run around in the snow for a few seconds before shutting the door.

Madison returned to the couch and changed the television channel to see what the latest weather report was. She listened to the meteorologist explain that the storm was dumping more snow than they expected. In fact, the forecast had now changed to say a foot of snow or maybe more was possible. The front was slow moving and would probably hang around for at least a couple days. Madison began to wonder if all the times she had wished for some snowfall since the start of winter had suddenly caught up and resulted in all those wishes being granted at once.

Remington's barking sounded over the television. It was rare that Remington barked like that. Curious, Madison got up from the couch and looked outside. She saw Remington dart across the yard as he barked again. She could have sworn she saw something moving just past where the porch light could reach. Remington's barking increased. Then, just at the edge of her illuminated yard, she saw the beam of a flashlight. It took her by surprise to see someone in her yard in the middle of such a storm. Madison watched Remington run around the stranger. The man made a movement as though to grab something and suddenly dropped it. Madison quickly grabbed her coat from the back of the recliner, pulled on her boots, and went outside. Just as she did, she saw Remington run toward the man again. She heard the man calling out for help.

Her dog, true to his usual nature when encountering someone new, literally pounced on the man. Madison was convinced her dog had never met a stranger in his life. Remington wouldn't harm a fly, but the man he had tackled didn't know that. He immediately began panicking as the dog tried to lick his face.

"Remi!" Madison called out before her dog terrified the poor guy. "Get off him!"

Her voice seemed to startle the man on the ground. He suddenly looked up at her. Madison called out to her dog again. The excited dog continued to bark happily. The man on the ground yelled at Madison this time.

"Call off your hellhound!" the young man struggled to push Remington off of him.

"Remi!" Madison yelled at her dog even louder and grabbed his collar. "Down!"

The black lab instantly backed away. The man looked momentarily relieved. Madison wondered where he had even come from. The nearest houses to hers were a mile down the road, and two miles up the road, there were a few scattered cabins at the base of the mountain. Then she spotted it. The black car stuck in the snow at the edge of her property.

Madison reasoned he must have been coming toward the house to get help. Well, there was nothing she could for his stuck car. She leaned down to help the man up, but the second she grabbed his left arm, his right one took a wild swing. Madison staggered back a couple steps as she rubbed away the pain from being punched in the jaw.

"Dude!" Madison looked at him as he got to his feet. "What the hell? I'm just trying to help you! Calm down!"

"First you send your hellhound after me and then you expect me to trust you?" he asked, almost sounding hysterical. Even in the dim light, Madison could see his chest heaving as he struggled to calm down. Slowly, he hauled himself to his feet.

"Hellhound? What?" Madison almost laughed. "Nevermind. Remi's not going to hurt you. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell you're doing in my yard!"

Madison could tell he definitely wasn't well. The way he couldn't seem to fully get a grasp on reality made her wonder if he was truly insane. He swayed slightly, which only resulted in Madison's worry level suddenly spiking even more.

She barely had time to react before he decided she was still a threat. He tried again to defend himself from whatever he thought she was going to do to him. The action made Remington growl. Madison knew her dog only growled when he sensed his owner was in danger. She ducked another wild punch aimed her way. Her jaw still throbbed from the one she had already taken.

"Easy, Remi," Madison tried to calm the dog before it did something to make things worse. Once again, the man turned on her. Her fighting instincts took over before she could stop them.

With one well-aimed punch, Madison effectively knocked her attacker down. The ease in which he went down startled her, given that he was a little taller than she was. But the blow seemed to have momentarily brought him to his senses.

"Well, now that we know I can kick your ass if you try that again," Madison looked down at him. "Mind telling me what the hell you're doing here?"

"I was… I don't…" he stammered, rubbing his cheek. "I needed help."

His hands came up to cover his face. All the fight was gone from him now. Madison suddenly felt bad for hitting him since it was so painfully obvious he wasn't in his right mind.

"Ah, hell," Madison groaned and knelt in front of him. "What's your name?"

"Dean," he sounded as though it took all he had just to tell her his name.

"I'm Madison," she told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You alone?"

"Of course I am," he replied offhandedly before a coughing fit left him nearly breathless.

"Okay, I—"

Before Madison could finish her sentence, the young man's eyes rolled back. He suddenly slumped forward against Madison. His fever-warm forehead was against her neck, and Madison suddenly realized he was probably lost on top of being sick.

Madison had no idea who he was. All she knew was that she had to help him.

Remington's bark sounded from her left. She looked over to see her dog dragging something over. The dog let it go when he got to her. It was a duffel bag that Madison knew had to belong to the stranger now lying in her yard. Something caught her eye just as she started to try to figure out how to get him inside. The porch light glinted off something a couple feet away.

Madison frowned when she realized it was a pistol. Putting two and two together, she figured that must have been what she saw him drop before she went outside. Remington barked again, oblivious to the fact he had come close to probably getting a bullet between the eyes. Madison grabbed the gun and tucked it safely into a pocket on the duffel bag. She would deal with that once she was inside. Madison threw the bag over her shoulder and hooked her hands under the young man's arms. Her only option was to half carry, half drag him inside her house. It was slow going, and after a few near falls, she managed to get him inside with Remington in tow. The dog decided to hang back once they were all inside and headed over to take his usual spot beside the couch.

Madison decided the best thing to do was get the stranger to the guest room so he could lie down on the bed and rest. Just as she got him to the spare bedroom that was just down the hall from the front door of her small home, he stirred slightly. He groaned as Madison stumbled a step toward the bed and nearly dropped him.

"Sorry," she muttered, trying her best not to let him completely fall to the floor.

She managed to pull off his snow covered coat and tried to brush off most of the snow that clung to his clothes before lying him down. His eyes were open, looking at her and watching her every move as she placed his jacket on top of the nightstand a few feet from the bed. She pulled his boots off before fully getting him onto the bed. The green eyes looking at her definitely weren't completely focused on her. She placed a hand to his forehead to gauge his temperature again.

"Wha's goin' on?" he mumbled, pushing her hand away from his forehead. "Leave me alone!"

"Just take it easy," she gently put a hand on his shoulder. His low grade fever wasn't a cause of major concern yet, but she would definitely have to keep an eye on him.

It looked like it was taking all of his strength just to focus on her.

"My name's Madison," she told him again, trying to make him realize she wasn't going to hurt him. "You're safe here. I need you to trust me on that, okay?"

For a moment, Madison feared he was going to try to make some sort of wild attempt to get away from her. The look he gave her told her that he had come to realize he had no choice but to trust her. Very slowly, he nodded to let her know he was willing to trust her. At least for the moment.

"Good," Madison smiled, patting his shoulder.

She got up to quickly grab a couple blankets from the closet. Panic was creeping in as she laid the blankets over him. He was deathly pale and shivering so violently that Madison felt helpless in trying to figure out what to do. She wondered just who he was. All she knew was he had told her his name was Dean. She looked at the duffel bag she had sat on the floor, remembering a gun was still in it. For now, she just made sure it wasn't close enough to the bed for him to grab. The last thing she needed was for him to lose it again. Curiosity made her want to see if she could find anything in the bag that would give her any clues as to who her surprise guest was. She would never do that though. Madison knew all too well that it was never a good thing for a stranger to know more about you than you wanted them to.

She quietly slipped out of the room and headed into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and the bottle of Tylenol from the bathroom medicine cabinet before returning to the guest room. Dean had almost fallen asleep in the few seconds she was gone.

"Hey," Madison sat the glass of water and the pills on the nightstand. "I know you're feeling lousy. I've got some Tylenol if you want to take it. It'll help."

He didn't say anything in return, just opting to attempt to sit up. That's when Madison realized how bad he must truly feel. He barely had the strength to do that simple act. He shrugged off her attempt to help him sit up.

"Dean, come on now," she tried again to help him sit up. He stiffened under her touch. "What? What's wrong?"

"How do you know my name?" he asked, eyes unfocused.

"You told me," she explained. She uncapped the pill bottle and poured two pills into her hand. "Here, take these and then I'll let you rest, all right?"

She had to help him with the glass of water after he nearly knocked it off the nightstand just trying to pick it up. He didn't protest her help this time. Instead, he gave her a look that told her he would've said what was really on his mind if he wasn't so sick. Madison wondered why he was so against getting help now when he had sounded so desperate for it outside. She hoped that whatever illness he had wasn't anything serious because she knew they would be out of luck if it was. Dean groaned slightly as he tried to get comfortable. She turned the light on in the hallway and turned the light off in the bedroom before sitting back down on the edge of the bed. The room was illuminated enough for her to keep an eye on her guest, but not so bright that it was going to make it difficult for him to get some sleep.

Madison reached out to comb her fingers through his short, dark blonde hair. She didn't know why she felt compelled to do that. Dean seemed to instantly relax a little as she did, turning his head to lean into her touch.

Whoever he was, Madison knew he wouldn't harm her whenever he fully came to his senses. As her adrenaline levels decreased and she really began to look at the sleeping young man, she realized he had to be in his twenties. She guessed he was a couple years or so younger than she was. After a few more minutes, she got up from the bed to let him sleep and went back into the living room. Remington looked up at her, wagging his tail before yawning and slowly going to sleep.

As Madison sat on the couch,her mind raced as she tried to put together pieces that didn't seem to fit. Dean had thought Remington was a hellhound. That was enough to raise a red flag for her. Not many people, no matter how sick they were, would ever believe a normal dog coming toward them was a hellhound.

Madison knew then Dean had to be someone who had knowledge of the occult, but she wasn't sure just how much he knew or why.

An hour after Dean fell asleep, Madison heard him calling out to someone. Unsure who was calling out to, she hurried to check on him. She turned the hall light on to barely illuminate the guest room. Dean had kicked off most of the blankets, all but a thin blanket that had been under the comforter. Madison's gaze fell to his face as he spoke unintelligibly. His expression alternated between one of peace to one of pain and occasionally an emotion she wasn't sure about. He mumbled something every now and then. She caught the name "Sam" a few times, and at one point, heard him half cry out for his mom. Her heart clenched at how childlike he sounded.

After a while, she noticed him beginning to stir. A look at the alarm clock on the nightstand showed that it was just past midnight. Madison placed a hand to his forehead again. His fever was still there, and to Madison's dismay, he felt warmer than he had earlier. As quick as she could, she hurried to the bathroom to grab a washcloth, wet it with cool water from the sink, and return to the room. His eyes fluttered open as soon as the cool cloth touched his forehead. Fever hazed green eyes looked at her questioningly.

He regarded her with such a curious and slightly startled expression that Madison wondered what was going through his mind. She removed the cloth from his head, momentarily laying it on the nightstand. Dean surprised her by sitting up slowly. Madison prepared for his pending attempt to get away. But that didn't happen. He leaned forward slightly and covered his face with his hands.

"Dean?" she made some attempt to gauge just how sick he really was.

Painfully slow, he lowered his hands and looked at her. She sat back down beside him. The silence in the room was broken only by the sound of his breathing, which seemed to hitch every so often, and the steady howl of the wind outside.

"Dean?" she tried again.

She cautiously reached out a hand to rest it on his arm. He looked down at her hand before raising his gaze again. His eyes squinted in the dim light as if he was trying to figure out who she was. Madison started to speak but stopped herself. Instead, she reached for his right hand and took it in hers.

"Everything's okay," she tried to calm him down. "You're just sick. Relax and let me take care of you, all right?"

A sudden look of embarrassment crossed his face as though he was ashamed of the fact she had to take care of him. She simply patted his knee in response.

"Go back to sleep," she urged. "When you feel up to it, I'll—"

Even more color drained from his already pale face.

"What?"

"Bathroom," he said quickly.

Before Madison could make a move, his reason for needing the bathroom made itself apparent. Whatever Dean had eaten earlier in the day made an appearance all over the bed covers, his shirt, and narrowly missed Madison's lap. Suddenly glad she didn't have a weak stomach, Madison jumped to her feet to avoid being puked on.

"I'm s-sorry," Dean looked mortified once he had finally stopped.

"Don't worry about it," she felt even worse for him. "It's all right. You done or is there more where that came from?"

He looked uncertain as he kept mouth tightly closed. Madison then took in the mess on the bed and down the front of Dean's shirt.

"Well, now you're going to have to get out of the bed," she smiled at him. "Let's get you to the bathroom and get you cleaned up, okay? I'll get your bag so you can change clothes."

"You're not undressing me," he said with such conviction that Madison had to stop herself from laughing.

"I never said I was," Madison grinned. "Come on."

Dean slowly pushed back the soiled blankets and swung his legs around to get out of bed. Madison made a move to help him up. The glare he gave her made Madison freeze. She paused, waiting to see if he really could make it to the bathroom on his own.

"Bathroom is across the hall," she said to him. "I'll carry your bag."

He made his way out of the room, albeit on very unsteady legs. Madison took that opportunity to pull the handgun from the pocket she had stuck it in earlier and laid it on top of the dresser for the moment before taking the bag to him. He graciously took the bag from her and began to pull a clean shirt from the bag.

"Just yell if you need anything," she told him.

"I'll be fine," he snapped. "Now, leave me the hell alone."

"And here I was gonna offer to give you a sponge bath," Madison smirked. "Guess you just lost that privilege."

"Shut up," was Dean's comeback.

Madison rolled her eyes. "Are you always this bitchy?"

Dean rewarded that question with a one finger salute. Madison couldn't help but be amused by it. She wanted to see what other responses she could get from him but thought better of it. Teasing a sick man wasn't exactly high on the list of acceptable behaviors for her.

Especially a sick man who obviously had knowledge of the occult.

"Okay then," Madison pulled the door closed.

She hurried to the bedroom to retrieve the handgun to put it somewhere safe and out of his reach—like the lock box in her closet where she kept her own handgun. Once back in the guest room, she stripped the sheets and blankets from the bed and grabbed fresh linens from the guest closet. It had been so long since she had any form of company that Madison couldn't even remember the last time someone had even been in the guest room.

Remington looked up at her as she carried the soiled bed linens through to the washer and tossed them in. She would start the wash as soon as she got Dean's dirty clothes to throw in with them. She went back to the bathroom to check on Dean.

"Dean?" she called through the door. No answer came. "Dean?"

Madison eased the door open to find him slumped on the ground, his back against the bathtub. She knelt in front of him. He looked at her with obvious confusion. He had at least managed to clean up and change into a pair of sweatpants. Madison couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her lips as she noticed numerous scars on his now shirtless upper body. Ignoring the voice in her head that wanted to know about the scars, Madison held onto his arm as he got back on his feet. His lack of complaint made her look at him with a raised eyebrow. The lucidity from just a few moments before was long gone.

"Come on, tough guy," she helped him back into the guest room.

At least it wasn't such a struggle to get him into bed the second time. Madison couldn't ignore the look he kept giving her. She felt his forehead again, silently cursing at the still too-warm skin. Madison knew she didn't have much in her medicine cabinet that would help with whatever illness Dean had. All she had was the basic fever reducers and pain medications in her house. None of which would really help if this was more than just some sort of stomach bug or the flu. And she prayed it wasn't the latter. She dealt with the flu the previous winter and was down for the count for nearly a week.

He rested an arm over his eyes. Madison watched as his breathing hitched. She gently caressed his cheek, only now seeing the bruise from where she had hit him earlier. Dean moved his arm so he could look at her. The faraway look was back again.

Madison started to get up and turn the hall light off. Maybe complete darkness would help him get some sleep.

"Mom, don't leave me," Dean grabbed her arm just as she got to her feet.

Madison snorted back a laugh that anyone could even look at her as though she was a motherly figure. Granted, she realized Dean had no idea what he was saying in his fevered state. She sat back down on the edge of the bed and held onto Dean's hand. He relaxed slightly when he realized she wasn't going anywhere.

"Mom?" he asked, eyes still unfocused.

Madison decided to just play along if it meant he would go to sleep faster.

"What?" she replied.

"Do you think Sammy is okay?"

Madison frowned. She had no idea who Sammy was.

"I'm sure he's all right," she hoped she sounded convincing enough for him to believe her.

"Dad told me to protect him," Dean's eyes opened again. Madison was surprised to see tears in them. Still, they were clouded, and Dean definitely didn't know who he was talking to. "He might get hurt out there!"

"He'll be okay," Madison tried to calm him down by keeping up the charade.

"I couldn't stop him from leaving," Dean sat up so quickly that Madison had to lean back for a second to keep from getting head-butted. "He left me and dad behind. I miss him, Mom."

Madison slowly put the pieces together to at least assume Sammy was Dean's brother. She had no idea what anything else meant past that though.

"Come here," she held out her arms and pulled Dean into a hug.

He held onto her as though his life depended on it. Madison couldn't stop herself from hugging him tighter when she felt him tremble in her arms. His overly warm body took a while to finally relax. Madison held him until she felt his breathing even out, signaling he was fully asleep. She eased him back down and pulled the blankets over him again. She waited a moment to see if he was going to wake up before finally stepping out of the room.

She paused in the hallway for a moment. Remington approached her, head cocked to the side as though he was as confused as she was about everything that had happened. She looked out the window at the snow that still fell relentlessly then back at the black lab.

"Well, boy," Madison reached down to pat his head. "I don't know who our guest is, but it looks like we're stuck with him for a while. You keep an eye on him for me, okay?"

Remington barked once before disappearing into the guest room. Madison headed off to her own bed, hoping that in the morning she would be able to figure out more about who Dean really was.


	3. Chapter 3

**So sorry for the long wait for this update! I sort of lost the inspiration I had for writing when I began working two ****jobs months ago. Haven't exactly had much time to really sit down and write without the possibility of falling asleep in the middle of typing. lol**

**Anyway, for those of you who are still sticking around… Thank you. I hope you enjoy! And I hope y'all have a Merry Christmas! **

As the morning sun filtered in through the windows, Madison walked down the hallway toward the guest room. Her surprise guest from the night before had yet to wake up. She eased the door open to find Dean lying on his stomach with one arm under his pillow. His face was toward the door, and Madison couldn't help but realize just how peaceful he looked right then compared to when she had first brought him into her home. She almost laughed when Remington raised his head up from where he lay on the other side of the bed. Her dog had never taken to anyone else so quickly.

To Madison, that was all the proof she needed to know Dean could be trusted. In the past eight years of owning the dog, Remington had never once been wrong when it came to his judgement of people.

She eased the door closed and went back through the house to her laundry room. Since Madison had decided to wash his clothes along with the soiled bed linens from the previous night, she had found his car keys. A look through the living room window earlier in the morning had revealed the barely noticeable shape of a car on the edge of her property, near the road.

Madison decided to go see if she could at least get some of the snow off the car and cover it properly because the car would definitely be stuck there for a while. Just as she pulled her coat and boots on, Remington padded into the living room.

"Hey, boy. So, I guess you believe our new friend is trustworthy?" Madison patted his head. Remington barked softly and nudged her hand. "Okay, I trust your judgment, but if he ends up being some psycho killer, it's going to be your fault I die."

Remington simply cocked his head at her statement. She laughed and opened the front door as the dog trailed after her. The wind had stopped blowing hard, but the snow still continued falling steadily. Madison remembered the local weather report said they could end up with just over a foot of snow before nightfall and possibly another half a foot depending on how the storm system moved.

Madison went to the old shed to right of the house and dragged out a couple of her father's old tarps to cover Dean's car with. She dragged them across the yard to the far edge where Dean's car sat off to the side of the road, just past where her property line ended and a small section of woods began. Maverick ran happily ahead, chasing after a gray squirrel that had scampered down from a nearby tree.

The car's smooth, black paint slowly became visible as Madison knocked off as much snow as she could. While she hadn't been sure what she expected to find under all the snow, Madison had to admit she definitely wasn't expecting a late 60s model Impala. Especially one that looked almost as good as the day it would have first rolled onto a car lot somewhere.

"Not bad," she grinned as she began covering the car with the tarps. She knew it was kind of a pointless thing to do with the snow still falling, but she felt like she had to do it for Dean.

A loud, sharp bark from Remington made her look up just as she finished adjusting the tarps. She immediately stopped her actions when she noticed Remington had barked because Dean was headed toward them. She ran to him to stop him from coming out any further in the snow. He still only wore the sweatpants from the night before. He had barely tied his boots that Madison was thankful he had at least put on.

"Dean, what are you doing out here?" she questioned.

"Have to…" he looked past her. "Where's my car?"

"I just covered it up," she could see his fever-clouded eyes as they struggled to focus.

"Dad needs me," Dean began to walk past her. "I gotta go help him!"

"You're in no condition to help anyone," Madison frowned and gently grabbed his arm. "C'mon, Dean, it's freezing out here. You don't even have a shirt on! You need to go back inside."

"No!" Dean suddenly yanked his arm from her grasp. "I have to help Dad! I need to—"

The rest of his fevered ranting ended abruptly with a coughing fit that left him doubled over, hands braced on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Madison gently held onto one of his arms and rubbed his back with her free hand. Remington whined quietly a few feet away. The dog looked unsure of whether or not to get any closer as Dean managed to straighten back up.

"Let's go back inside. You can call your Dad. I'm sure he'll understand—"

"I was supposed… to be back… by now," Dean wheezed, trying desperately to hug his arms to his chest as though that would block out the cold. "He's going to be…so pissed. Have… to go."

With a surprisingly quick movement, Dean began walking away unsteadily toward his car. He made it a few steps before he slowed to a stop then dropped to his knees. Madison rushed to him, kneeling in front of him.

"Dean, listen to me," she put a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to freeze out here. Let's get back inside, okay?"

"Dad's going—"

"Whatever you were supposed to meet your Dad for will have to wait," she told him softly. "You wouldn't be much, if any, help to him or anyone right now."

Madison was surprised to see Dean look momentarily hurt.

"I'm not useless," he dropped his head, looking away from her.

"I never said you were," she rose to her feet. "Please, Dean, you'll freeze out here."

As if to emphasize her words, Dean began shivering violently. He fell silent as she helped him up and steered him back toward the house. Remington patiently followed alongside them, casting glances up at Dean a couple times.

Madison got him back inside and tucked into bed despite his sudden declaration he wasn't a kid. She couldn't help but think he actually looked like a scared, lost kid. She tentatively placed her hand on his forehead to gauge his fever. The fever was slightly higher than what it had been during the night.

After a brief argument that Dean eventually lost, Madison managed to coax him into taking some more medicine. Dean rolled onto his side to avoid her touch and curled up into a tight ball as he shivered. Remington jumped up onto the bed and lay down behind Dean, leaning against him as though to try to help him stay warm.

"Good boy," Madison patted the dog's head before patting Dean's shoulder. "Rest, Dean. I'll be in the living room if you need me, okay?"

"Mmm," Dean replied groggily.

Madison sat on the edge of the bed until Dean's breathing evened out and he finally fell asleep again. She couldn't imagine what had been so important that Dean would believe that he needed to get out in the snow to try to leave even though he could barely stand on his own two feet.

* * *

><p>Dean awoke with a start. His eyes struggled to focus on the room as he tried to slow his breathing. Sunlight shined through the thin curtains over the only window on the right side of the room. He bolted upright when he remembered it had most definitely been nighttime when he last remembered anything.<p>

The movement sent a wave of nausea over him that had him lying back down and closing his eyes until the feeling passed. He slowly opened his eyes once his stomach stopped threatening to revolt. The unfamiliar surroundings had him on high alert in an instant. Reflex had him grabbing for the knife that he always kept under his pillow. It took a second for his fever-hazed mind to realize there was no knife.

And that he was not in the cabin he remembered trying to get to.

Dean's panic level rose until he saw his duffel bag on the floor just beside the bed. He stared at it for a moment. Seeing it partially unzipped, he wondered if he had left it that way or if someone else had. To his horror, he noticed that all he had on was his sweatpants. He distinctly remembered having on way more clothing than that last night.

It took nearly all of his strength to get out of bed so he could figure out just whatl was actually going on. He opened his duffel bag, digging through it to pull on a black t-shirt and grabbing the large knife buried under clothes in the bottom. Whatever was going on here couldn't possibly be good, and he wasn't going to go down without a fight. Dean stumbled through the house as his tired and sick body protested being upright. He kept the knife gripped tightly in his hand as he walked down the hall and emerged into the living room. The television was on, but nobody was around to watch it. It was oddly quiet in the house.

"Hello?" Dean called out, glancing around nervously. No answer came.

He turned toward the kitchen. The second his back turned, the front door opened. Something hit him in the back of knees hard enough to knock him down. The knife clattered across the floor as Dean tried to push the overly excited dog off of him. The fact he was so easily ambushed startled Dean. It wasn't like him to be taken down so easily by anything.

"Remi!" a voice called out.

Dean pushed the dog away before he felt hands on his shoulders. He fought against those hands too. A female voice told him soothingly that everything was okay, that he wasn't in danger. Dean finally focused on the face hovering over him. Blue eyes full of concern met his gaze. He stopped struggling when the nausea from earlier hit him again, but he managed to keep everything in control.

"You all right?" she asked.

"Who are you?" Dean asked as he sat up.

"You obviously don't remember last night then or earlier this morning," she frowned, looking even more concerned before smiling slightly. "My name's Madison, and I saved your ass last night."

Dean looked around for a second. He looked at the black dog that was now lying by the couch. It looked harmless enough, but Dean still wasn't sure he could trust it. Madison knelt beside him and reached a hand out to his forehead. He quickly swatted her hand away.

"Hands off," he told her.

"You still feel warm," Madison commented, not even acknowledging his objection to her touch. "But it seems like your fever has broken."

"I'm fine."

"You're fine?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Perfectly."

"So says the man who thought Remington was a hellhound last night. And—" she looked past him for a second. "What the hell were you doing with that knife?"

"Well, I wasn't going to kill you with it, if that's what you're wondering."

"Oh, yeah, that totally makes me feel better," Madison replied, sarcasm dripping in her voice. "Am I going to regret not letting your ass freeze out in the snow? I already put away a gun you had, and don't think you're getting it back just yet, either."

"But—"

"You heard me," she stared him down before straightening back to her full height. She offered her hand to Dean to help him up, but he pushed it away. "What is it with you? You're stubborn as a mule, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, who the hell asked you?" he shot back as he stood up to face her.

"Is that any way to talk to the person who took care of you last night?" she asked, her voice taking on a serious tone. "Look, I know we're strangers to each other here, but you're in my house, and you'll behave yourself, or you might just find yourself back out there in the snow. And your name is Dean, right?"

"How did you—"

She laughed. "You really were out of it last night, weren't you? I asked you last night, and you told me that's what your name was. I'm just double-checking that's actually your name now that you're not completely delirious with fever."

"Yeah, it is," Dean confirmed. Normally he wouldn't give his real name to someone he didn't know, but he didn't feel like trying to come up with a different name to give Madison since he had already told her the truth. "What happened last night anyway?"

"You tell me," she replied. "I let Remington out, and then he started barking. Next thing I know, you're out in my front yard, yelling for help because you think Remi is a hellhound."

"I don't really remember any of that," Dean paled.

How could he not remember what happened? Had something put a curse on him? Could he really trust that Madison was telling the truth? He must have really let his guard down last night. How else would he have ended up in this situation?

"Dean? Hey, everything is all right."

He barely registered Madison's feather light touch on his arm. Her voice, while concerned, oddly soothing as he tried to figure out if this was his mind playing tricks on him or if there really was a simple explanation as to how he ended up in her house. Madison kept her hand on his arm and gently led him to the couch. Dean collapsed onto it without hesitation when exhaustion suddenly hit him. His normally quick and alert nature had been severely compromised. He tried to desperately to hide his shaking hands.

"Guess you're not feeling as okay as you want me to believe, huh?" Madison questioned. Dean shrugged in response. "Well, this should make you feel a little better – I covered your car for you. I knocked as much snow off as I could before dragging a couple of my Dad's old tarps out of the garage to cover it."

It took Dean a few seconds to comprehend what she had said. Madison had taken the time to cover his car? That definitely didn't sound like something someone would do for him if they intended on harming him in some way.

"You're definitely stuck here until the snow clears, which could be at least another couple days or so depending on if the second storm comes through today like they're saying," Madison continued. "And this road is usually one of the last ones to be cleared since it's not a heavily travelled road, but I already called a friend of mine with the city's public works department and told them to be careful plowing the roads around the curve when they do so they won't hit your car. It should be out of the way, but you never can be too careful."

"You really took the time to do that?"

"Hey, a car like that isn't something you see every day," Madison grinned. "It's a damn nice car too, I might add."

"Thanks," Dean managed to smile. "My Dad recently gave me the keys to her."

"She's a beauty, that's for sure," Madison flashed him a smile.

He looked down at the dog at his feet. "And this is Remington? You named your dog after a gun?"

"What can I say?" Madison shrugged. "I was raised by a father who loved guns and hunting."

Dean watched as Madison walked over to pick up the large hunting knife he had dropped. She surveyed it for a moment before looking at him.

"Serious question," Madison eyed his suspiciously. "What in the hell are you even doing out here? You're definitely not someone I've seen around here before."

"It's a long story," Dean tried to avoid giving a straight answer. "And even if I told you, then you'd never believe me."

"Try me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I already told you," Dean sighed. "Look, I swear to you that it's not what you're probably thinking. I'm not a lunatic who wants to kill you or anything."

"Something tells me you're not lying to me, but for all intents and purposes," Madison held up the knife and surveyed it. "You're not getting this back until I know for sure I can trust you. You hiding any more weapons that I need to know about?"

"No."

Well, he didn't have any more with him in the house anyway. Since Madison hadn't mentioned all the weapons in the trunk of the Impala, Dean decided to just keep quiet about those.

"Good. I'll be right back."

Dean wanted to protest, but he wasn't exactly in a position to argue as Madison disappeared down the hall to hide his knife from him. He suddenly felt drained. His head ached with every heartbeat, and he felt miserable. He rubbed a hand across his face. Madison reappeared with his cellphone. He hadn't even thought about it until that very moment she handed it out to him.

"Here, you got a phone call about an hour ago. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about me answering your calls, so I didn't answer it."

"Thanks," he took his phone from her.

Any other person would have probably answered the call for him. Madison seemed to be honed in on Dean's need for privacy. It was a detail about the woman standing before him that both intrigued and scared him a little. She wasn't quite like any other person he had ever run into while traveling.

"I know you're still not feeling well, even if you won't admit it," she shot him a look he tried to ignore. "But I'm going to fix some dinner. You've already slept through lunch."

"You know," Dean studied her. "Most people would have probably called the cops if they had found some guy in their front yard with a gun."

"Please," Madison scoffed. "I wasn't afraid of you last night. Not by a long shot. Besides, once I realized that you weren't all there, I was less worried about the gun after I found it and more worried about the fact you were going to freeze to death. What on earth were you doing out in this mess? There's nothing past my house except some hunters cabins a little ways up the mountain."

"I was headed to one of the cabins," he explained. "My dad and I use one of them sometimes when we're out this way."

"A little winter hunting, huh?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. If Madison thought he was a regular hunter, then he would just play along. No reason she needed to know the truth.

"Well, you sure picked a fine time to go hunting," she commented with a smile. "And do me a favor, would ya?"

Dean arched an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"If you feel like throwing up at any time, try to make it to the bathroom down the hall across from the room you were in," Madison laughed softly. "I'd rather not have to clean up after you again."

Dean suddenly wanted to find a rock to crawl under. "Sorry. I guess I was more trouble than I was worth last night, huh?"

"I'm not sure you even knew where you were last night," Madison sighed. "You were so out of it that I thought I was going to have to dress you myself when I had to get you to the bathroom and cleaned up."

"You didn't—"

"Relax," Madison said, amused by his momentarily mortified expression. "You dressed yourself. Well, you at least managed to get pants on before I came back into the bathroom to find you sitting on the floor looking like you wouldn't have known your own name if I'd asked then."

"I didn't say anything stupid to you, did I?" Dean questioned, fearing that he might have embarrassed himself even more. He knew that high fevers usually led to him saying or trying to do something incredibly stupid.

"Nah," Madison shook her head. "You did ask me about someone you called 'Sammy', though."

"I did?" Dean frowned.

"Yeah, but don't worry about it," she seemed to shrug the incident off. "I'm assuming Sammy is your brother?"

"Little brother, and I'd rather not talk about him right now."

"Understood," Madison nodded. "Well, I'm going to go fix something to eat. Try to remember that Remi isn't a hellhound and that the bathroom is down the hall, all right?"

"I'll try," Dean flashed her a smile. "And thanks… for everything. You really didn't have to go through the trouble."

"I couldn't leave you to freeze out there," Madison's voice softened. "Especially when I know you would've died out there if I hadn't brought you in. Really, I don't mind helping you at all."

Dean only wished she knew how awkward he really felt knowing he had needed a stranger's help to save his life the previous night. But, he guessed, it was bound to happen when his Dad sent him out on a hunt by himself. He was so used to having his Dad as his lifeline when things went wrong. He looked to where Madison stood. He had to admit she was pretty, with shoulder length blonde hair and a smile that lit up the room.

He noticed a bruise on her face that he knew wasn't an old one.

"What happened to your face?"

"You happened to my face," she laughed. "I tried to help you up off the ground last night, and you took a swing I wasn't ready for. I learned the hard way just how delirious you really can be with a fever."

"Sorry," Dean tried to hide his embarrassment.

"You've got a matching bruise, you know," she laughed again. "You tried to hit me a second time, and well… I fought back without thinking. Although I wasn't expecting you to go down as quick as you did."

Dean self-consciously ran his hand along his face. He flinched slightly when the light touch on his left cheek resulted in a brief flash of pain. Dean made a mental note to lock away the fact he had gotten his ass handed to him by a woman.

"Since I know it's pointless to ask you to tell me if you start feeling worse again, there's a bottle of Tylenol in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. It's all I have in terms of medicine that might help. I wasn't exactly expecting to play nurse any time soon."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"This," he gestured around the room. "Letting me stay here. Taking time to cover my car. Taking care of me. You're not afraid to let a stranger stay in your home?"

"You needed help, and I couldn't leave you out there to die," she replied honestly. "You were so sick and disoriented. You would've frozen to death if Remington hadn't wanted out at the right time and then alerted me to you being out there."

A chill ran up Dean's spine that had nothing to do with his lingering fever. "I don't know what to say. Well, I guess I should say thank you. And I promise I won't cause any more trouble."

"Good," she smiled brightly. "As long as you don't have any more weapons, I won't have to do something drastic like tie you up and wait for the police to have a chance to come get you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, tough guy," she winked. "Remember, I knocked you on your ass once. I'll do it again if I have to."

"Point taken," Dean laughed. His laughter rattled his chest, sending him into a coughing fit.

Madison was by his side in an instant. Dean struggled to get his breathing back under control. He felt Madison's hand on his back and flinched involuntarily at her touch. She pulled her hand away for a second before replacing her hand on his back. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had actually let someone try to comfort him like Madison was. Madison rubbed is back and began trying to talk to him, to calm him down. After a couple minutes, Dean managed to get his breathing to even out back to normal.

"You okay now?" Madison asked.

"Yeah," Dean wheezed in reply. "Damn that hurt."

"See? I knew you were lying when you said you were fine."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean replied, his voice grating against his sore throat. "How's that?"

"I have a big brother who's every bit as stubborn as you seem to be," she smiled fondly.

"So I guess there's no fooling you then?"

"Nope," she got up from the couch. "Now, you rest up. I'll fix something to eat. Think you can handle eating a little something?"

"Maybe," Dean tried to ignore how his stomach threatened to revolt again at the thought of food.

"I'll see what I've got in the kitchen. Yell at me if you need anything."

She patted his shoulder before getting up and disappearing into the kitchen. Dean looked back at his phone he still held in his hand. He had all but forgotten about it. He checked to see who had called him earlier. The missed call was from his Dad. He called him back.

"Dean, where the hell are you?" his Dad demanded the second he answered the call. "Did you take care of that Black Dog yet?"

"I'm still in Tennessee," Dean answered. "And yeah, I did. But Dad, I… uh… I have a bit of a situation here."

"What did you screw up this time?"

Dean flinched at his Dad's tone. "A snowstorm hit last night. I'm going to be stuck here for a day or two."

"If you hadn't let that thing get away the other day, you wouldn't be in this mess. You would've been out of there before the storm hit," John said, obviously irritated. "You're not exactly proving you're ready for any more solo hunts, Dean."

"I know, Dad," Dean knew he had disappointed his father again. "I'm sorry."

"Will you be okay waiting out the storm on your own?" John's anger faded into a semi-recognizable tone of concern.

"Yeah, I'll be okay."

Dean didn't want to tell him exactly where he was. The last thing he needed was for his Dad to know he was in someone else's house. His Dad had never been fond of accepting help from strangers. Staying too long with someone who was unaware about what they did only led to questions being asked that really didn't need to be answered.

"Well, I've got to go. I've got a job to finish."

Then that was it. The phone call was over. John knew Dean was okay, and that was all that mattered. Dean, however, hated how disappointed his Dad had sounded. No use in worrying about it now though. Dean put his phone on the coffee table, too tired to think about it anymore.

The world had darkened somewhat outside the window as clouds rolled in again to dump even more snow. Dean shivered at the thought of still being stuck in the storm alone. Maybe it wasn't so bad he ended up here in Madison's house, even if he didn't really know her. Madison had gone above and beyond what any stranger had—or even should have—done for him. He knew anyone else wouldn't have hesitated to call the police. It unnerved him at how calm she was about finding the two weapons he had carried with him to the house.

Dean looked down at the black lab by his feet when the dog yawned. It looked up at him and wagged its tail. He reached down to pat the Remington's head.

"I thought you were a hellhound?" Dean said to the dog and chuckled. "You definitely don't look that vicious."

Remington cocked his head to the side before nudging Dean's hand with his nose. Dean laughed at the absurdity of him being afraid of the dog. He hoped he had kept enough of his dignity intact while Madison had taken care of him.

Dean yawned, suddenly aware of how tired he still was. His chest still ached from the coughing fit. A bone deep exhaustion made him feel like he could sleep for the next two days. It had been a long time since an illness hit him so hard. He considered getting up and going back to the bedroom, but he didn't have the energy for that. Instead, he opted to just lie down on the couch.

Vaguely, he heard Madison moving stuff around in the kitchen. A swell of longing hit him when he realized that this was what it felt like to be in an actual home instead of a motel room. His thoughts turned to all those years ago when he had been a happy little boy, living in a normal home with his parents and baby brother. Those were the days he missed the most. He drifted off to sleep and dreamed of an alternate reality where he had a permanent home to come home to every day. An alternate reality where he had a family, complete with a Mother, to be with and never had to worry about the monsters in the world.


End file.
